


Six Possible Things Before Breakfast

by CAPSING



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Different Tags For Different Chapters, M/M, oh boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-14 00:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9148867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CAPSING/pseuds/CAPSING
Summary: It's Shendak Week!1. Role Swap - Shiro is a highly moral prison-guard in an integrated prison. In comes Sendak.2. Free Day - Shiro takes Sendak to a fun day at the beach. Sendak bravely endures.3. Nesting - Getting stabbed in the kidney is not Shiro's favorite way to start his day.4. Galra Shiro - It's strange, being married to an alien.5. Priceless\Expandable - Sendak experiences a shift in perspective regarding his view about life.6. Slavery - Shiro had eleven owners by now.





	1. Take No Prisoners

**Author's Note:**

> me: in 2017 i'd actually finish stuff before starting new things yep definitely no new things nope  
> also me: oh shendak week haven't done one of those before ohhh it's so shinyyyy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this time featuring: Horny Shiro + implied sexual activity and rough-play + UST + creative freedom regarding judiciary-related-issues  
> what can i say "shiro wanting sendak to fuck the daylights out of him even though sendak's an asshole" is one of the best tropes imo  
> credit and my thanks to steelrunner for suggesting the awesome title!! :D

Shiro's fucked.

Not in the literal sense, unfortunately, though this is part of the problem. Shiro's metaphorically fucked, due to the current situation, which also makes him consider he might be a bit fucked in the head, as well.

When Shiro signed up to be a prison guard, he did so out of sense of duty, a calling - seeing the ill state the State's prisons were at, reading about Standford’s famous experiment – Shiro knew every person who encountered it thought _they_ wouldn’t have acted this way, so Shiro decided he'd do one better - he'd put his money where his mouth at (and with his salary, you can tell he wasn’t doing it out of greed.) He’d sign-up and prove to be the ideal guard – he wouldn't let the taste of power corrupt him. He would treat all the prisoners under his watch equally and fairly, while keeping an eye on the prisoners from his fellow guards and from themselves. He’d be making sure they served their time, instead of wasting it – so he’ll keep tabs on them to know they got to their different appointments and group-sessions, until they’ve returned back into society as productive members.

That worked well enough for the past five years, up until the moment Sendak walked through the prison gates and into the courtyard.

Shiro heard about him before, sure - who hasn't? You couldn’t ignore this tidbit even if you tried. The media went frantic and accommodating, as the police department tried to wear their achievement out in every possible interview – first in news panels in the evening, than in the morning talk-shows. They finally managed to get their hands on of the Empire’s important members, and bring him to justice. The Galra Empire was the unofficial title of a huge, branched-out cartel run under a legitimate business front. Its existence was common knowledge in the right circles, that left not even cold trails for the frustrated police force for _decades_.

Sendak was a crucial figure in the organization, according to the reports – not a mere goon to take the fall for the higher-ups. His series of trials were held in closed doors, and the press was salivating at the doorstep, eager to catch every scrape of information they were thrown – until they ended up regurgitating the same tale over and over without saying anything new.

 

Seeing him first hand, however, was an entirely different manner than hearing about him, or catching blurry snapshots of him while scrolling through his newsfeed.

Shiro wasn't there when he was processed, so it's been two days before he gets a chance to see him. It’s the furthest thing from his mind at the moment, keeping an eye on one of the older prisoners who’s been acting fishy. It’s when said inmate turns Shiro head turns as well, to see what’s the attraction.

The attraction is the first Galra Shiro had ever seen in the flesh, and it’s quite a sight.

He's huge, not like any man Shiro had ever seen (which makes sense, seeing as he is not a man) – but the prison Shiro is stationed at is integrated, and none of the aliens reach Sendak’s size. Shiro had never met a Galra before; there’s a difference between vaguely knowing they're taller than humans – and actually witnessing them towering the other prisoners, parting them like a hound running through a wheat field.

Sendak walks into the courtyard like he owns it, ignoring the hush that slowly settles between the different bands as he walks past them, which is quickly converted into gossip that hums through after him like a trail. He seems unbothered by it; Shiro had spent years reading body language, so he knows Sendak isn't just pretending - he walked right into a bunch of criminals like he couldn't care less, subtly surveying the environment, perhaps to find an empty spot.

Shiro doesn’t let the sauntering get to him (or, at least, at this point, he’s better at repressing it).

Myzax, the prison's top-dog, is walking up to Sendak, to the murmurs of the crowd. Shiro's clutching the baton strapped to his belt already, sensing trouble, but he’s not going to intervene before there's an actual need for it – that’d be a rookie mistake. It’s best to let Sendak settle into the prison’s dynamics without Shiro meddling in it.

He meets the eyes of Allura, off to his left, not that far from him – and thanks whoever scheduled this week’s shifts to have blessed Shiro in such good fortune.

Allura, besides being close friend, is also terrifyingly strong. The prisoners are much aware of it - even when they do pull shit, Allura can get the upper hand on any of them without breaking a sweat. (Myzax, who’s about five times as wide as Allura, only made the mistake of belittling her once; since then, he steadily avoids causing disturbances while she’s stationed nearby.)

From time to time, when she feels like the prisoners could use a reminder of her strength to refresh their memories, she takes a metal tray during one of the meals and folds it up like to create origami-animals – she’s got bored of cranes quickly enough, and she’d taken to practice lions recently (though Shiro hadn’t the heart to tell her they look more like dogs, not when she gave him one; it sits on his nightstand, and Shiro is very fond of it).

 

Sendak turns in an unhurried manner when Myzax calls him. Shiro can't make most of the boisterous claims, nor can he hear Sendak, who answers in a voice so soft it doesn't carry.

Myzax seems pissed at the answer, tone growing bolder as he starts stomping into Sendak’s personal space.

Then, the unthinkable happens.

"Guard," Sendak calls loudly, looking above the crowd to meet Shiro’s eyes, "this man is attempting to assault me. Please remove him from my vicinity.”

Completely uncaring of the unspoken iron rules between prisoners, Sendak breaks them without any care. It’s social suicide in prison- no one would associate themselves with a _snitch_ , much less one who’s fresh meat with no inner-group to back him up.

Shiro sends a baffled look at Allura before striding towards them, sensing a trick - but there's none. He can't even use his usual ‘ _Is there a problem here?_ ’ to diffuse it - as he approaches, Myzax mutters something under his breath, glaring daggers at Sendak, and backs off to his group before Shiro reaches them.

Up close, Sendak reminds Shiro of a taxidermied grizzly bear he’d seen as a kid – looming and too fearsome to actually draw breath. This predator, however, bares his fangs in a wide smirk, not bothering with subtlety as he lets his gaze roam over Shiro’s body in a most indecent manner.

"Thank you, _officer_." He says, and Shiro can't help but feel he’s being made a fool in front of the entire prison population.

"That's part of my job," he answers in turn, standing his ground, determined not to back off, which causes his neck to twist up in at an awkward angle.

Sendak nods and continues staring at him. No one had ever sent such an intense gaze at Shiro’s form, and Sendak’s only got one eye – the other covered by a patch with a gruesome scar surrounding it, hiding both an empty socket and a surely chilling story.

The unofficial stand-off is when Shiro realizes he’s terribly aroused.

He wants to bite into Sendak’s thick neck, to have those fangs on him. Next to Sendak, he’s as good as a ragdoll; the baton is nothing more than a toothpick Sendak can crush in his jaws. He breathes out danger like pheromones that drug-up Shiro's senses. Shiro can imagine him throwing Shiro down like a ragdoll, pinning him immobile in a dark corner, stuffing a sock into Shiro’s mouth to shut him up, tearing up his –

 _‘Oh_ ’, Shiro realizes. ‘ _That isn’t good._ ’

 

But Shiro isn’t one to let his libido mess-up his life; he goes out on the weekend with no other goal than getting laid. He finds the biggest man in the bar and works up his rusty flirting skills, which aren’t as helpful as Shiro’s six-pack but work well enough.

Only when Shiro lies in bed, after, he realizes his itch hadn’t been scratched.

It’s like he had a single chicken pox that just now broke to a full scale infection under his skin.

That's bad.

 

It's worse when, for some inexplicable reason, Shiro is assigned to personally escort Sendak to his remaining trials – by himself. The warden tells Shiro it's because of his years-long experience, but Shiro knows that others are just too scared to approach Sendak. It’s the logical reaction, one normal people, who are not fucked-up, get in their heads facing an eight-and-a-half feet tall criminal mastermind.

But it's not that he's that evil, Shiro tries to reason with himself as he walks towards his cell. It's not that he's in for first-degree-murder or rape or the sort.

He's in for tax evasion.

Tax offenses are still a terrible thing, Shiro mind tried to reason - people who avoid paying taxes end up hurting everyone, and Sendak’s tax evasions had piled up to millions of dollars that could’ve done so much good if they reached any of the many places they’re needed at.

It’s a lost cause.

 

“Hands,” Shiro snaps to Sendak, stress making him try to keep communication curt.

A mistake.

With the persistent smirk of his, Sendak brings a single hand forwards. Shiro is about to snap at him again when he realizes, belatedly, that Sendak is missing his left arm.

He feels the heat in his cheeks growing, embarrassed by the levels he became afflicted by his untapped lust; to entirely miss out a missing limb on a person.

"I'm afraid that's the best I can offer," Sendak says, not sounding apologetic- but amused.

Shiro grits his teeth while he considers a solution to this mishap; he can’t believe he wasn’t briefed on this.

"That's fine," he tells Sendak, cuffing his right wrist. It’s so thick the cuff barely manages to close around it, but Shiro doesn't want to make it too tight – it’d be cruel, and Sendak doesn't deserve it.

Sendak keeps still as Shiro tries to think - Sendak isn't prone on running; he is too well-known as a businessman to allow himself that, so he isn't that much of a high risk, per se.

Shiro doesn’t like the solution he comes up with, but doesn’t have much choice in the matter.

"I'm going to cuff your legs now." Shiro announces, and Sendak inclines his head, as if he has any say to approve Shiro to do so.

Bending down, Shiro is shocked at Sendak’s insolence - his feet are bare.

"Where are your shoes?" He asks, angrily. He knows he's just snapping at Sendak to vent out his misplaced sexual frustration, and that’s not fair. Prisoners are known to defy the guards’ authority in such small ways, and Sendak’s new – it’s natural he’d try to postpone their departure to create a sense of control over the situation.

 

Annoyance flickers on Sendak's face for the first time since they've met, so brief Shiro barely catches it.

"I wasn't given any," he says.

"What do you mean, _you weren’t given any?_ " Shiro claims, rising up. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Sendak looks at him impassively.

"I was told the prison did not have a fitting pair in its stock, so it was either to be issued with a standard pair or wait for a proper one. They're due in a month or so."

"That's unacceptable." Shiro bites his lower lip. He can’t believe it; in his head, he’s already compiling the nastiest report bureaucracy would allow, flipping through possible suspects for this oversight. "On behalf on the prison’s staff, I apologise. That’s not how things work around here. We’re expected at the trial, so there’s nothing to be done about it now, but I'll make sure you get a proper pair by the end of the day."

Shiro doesn’t let himself observe Sendak’s reaction, knowing he’d read too much into it as it is.

As he kneels down to cuff Sendak’s legs together he’s so out of it, he doesn't even realize he didn't tell Sendak to turn to the wall to do it; he gulps as he cuffs the next ankle, his fingers brushing against the fur on it, incredibly soft, like Shiro’s favorite fleece pajamas. The claws at the end of each of Sendak’s three toes are wickedly sharp; they’re a ridiculously beautiful thing, like an ancient set of obsidian daggers at a museum, wisely crafted and preserved for display.

Shiro makes the mistake of looking up - Sendak's expression is positively predatory.

Thankfully for the both of them, Sendak is wise enough not to crack a comment about Shiro being on his knees - not when there are no doors and anyone can hear it. He doesn't need to - Shiro notices the distinctive bulge in his prisoner pants all by himself, right in front of his nose, and his mouth waters.

He clips the chain from the handcuff to the chain linking between Sendak’s legs.

He is so very fucked.

 

The ride towards and from the trial goes without a hitch. Sendak doesn’t try to escape or goad Shiro further under the many lenses pointed at them until they reach the court first and the van after.

Sendak is given three years in, a tiff compared to the extent of the Empire’s activities - the cops had lucked out this time, but Sendak is unruffled by the verdict, keeping to his smirk while the verdict is being read. Shiro can't help but look at the assembled jury, all very pale, tugging their ties loose or biting into their fingers. The man reading the jury’s decision has his own stream running down his face, his sweat clinging to the front of his shirt despite the air conditioning.

You can’t win them all, he supposes.

 

The shoes await in Sendak’s cell when they’re back, and Shiro sees Sendak’s smirk dropping momentarily; he doesn’t know what the look Sendak gives him means. He’s inspecting Shiro the way a cat pokes at a curled-up hedgehog to figure out the best way to claw out its soft belly.

"Three years," Sendak says as Shiro uncuffs his ankles. "That can easily be reduced to a year, on good behaviour. And I promise you, Shiro," He purrs out the name even though Shiro had never introduced himself, "I can be _very good_."

 

Shiro swallows.

 

This is going to be a very long year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are joy and joy helps me type ♥  
> I’d tag specific warnings for each day. I’m hoping to manage at least a daily drabble for the theme.


	2. Bitch at the Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Free Day: Shiro takes Sendak to a fun day at the beach. Sendak bravely endures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring: AU + Established Relationship 
> 
> but what if!! Galra really really hate water. like in a way that make cats seem like mermaids

The sun was shining brightly in the wide, cloudless sky; seagulls shrieked at each other constantly, fighting over trash or just enjoying their favorite tune loudly for the entire world to hear. As he was stabbing the pole of the unsteady beach umbrella for the fourth time into the shifty sand, Sendak thought it might have been better if the Empire would've signed the peace treaty just after demolishing this one particular planet.

Shiro was off-planet at the time anyhow, he mused, so it wasn’t as if anything of value would’ve been lost.

Maybe if things would’ve gotten his way, Sendak wouldn’t have been forced to spend an entire Earth-cycle at this accursed piece of territory.

"Sendak!" Shiro called, and Sendak looked over to see him already waist-deep into the liquid-death-trap. “Come on in! The water’s great!”

There were many things wrong about this claim. For one, there was nothing particularly appealing in the concept of water as a whole, much less a huge mass of it. Fluids were better digested through food intake – to consume them undiluted was an unsettling concept. Moreover, this specific kind of water wasn't digestible for humans - in fact, if they consumed it, they ended up with less fluids than they originally had, further proving Sendak’s point.

Most importantly – it was _wet_.

The only time Galra should be wet is when they’re bathing in the blood of their enemies.

That, and when mating (within moderation, of course – nothing like this preposterous display).

"I’m fine here," he gritted his teeth, toes digging into the sand as if it could keep him from Shiro’s persistence.

Shiro shrugged; he kept his body bare, which was pleasing – ordinarily, it’s one of the things he and Sendak couldn’t reach an agreement upon, Shiro’s human sensibilities regarding clothing. He wore some sort of long underwear, marking an improvement, overall, in his unwillingness to even roam their joint dwelling uncovered.

He turned his back to Sendak, joining his friends; Sendak huffed and reached for the bags, already prepared with a book – Shiro was adamant they’d keep the technological devices at home, despite books being prone to water damage. He didn't care - it wasn't  _his_ book. 

He settled under the temporary shelter the thin cloth of the beach umbrella provided, and took to reading his book. Shiro’s laughter rolled in the background, and when Sendak looked up he could see him engaging in some sort of splashing match. Humans could afford the layer of salt on their skin, already equipped to deal with it with their sweat – Galra could not. Sea water would surely ruin his fur and dry it out, if not making it fall out completely. 

The ocean was a sort of an endless toxin-bath to delve into, and the humans did so happily, laughing all the while.

They were a weird bunch.

 

He flipped a page, Shiro’s laughter still ringing in the air, sharper to Sendak’s ears than the seagulls or the waves crushing into each other.

 

At least there’d be watermelons, later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the lovely comments! ♥


	3. Early Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 3 - Nesting.  
> Getting stabbed in the kidney is not Shiro's favorite way to start his day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set somewhere after a Sendak-Redemption-Arc. He’s now with everyone in the Castle, and while they’re not on friendly terms, they cooperate.  
> Featuring: The Paladins! and Shiro's PTSD. Not really lots of Shendak.

Getting stabbed in the kidney is not Shiro's favorite way to start his day.

He's on the floor before he's even fully awake, crouched, arm activated, burning through the blanket that's tangled around his legs, trying to find the source of the attack. He checks for the extent of the damage with his left hand – but it comes back clean, and there’s no threat in sight. It must’ve been another nightmare – more vivid than any before, to actually have him wake. He deactivates the arm and groans into his hand, frustrated. At times like these (which are every other morning) he's grateful for having a separate room, for the relative, small privacy it allows – that his team wouldn't have to witness their leader lashing out at imaginary enemies like a man hell-bent to destroy the monster living under his bed. It's embarrassing.

He’s trying to untangle himself from the blanket, grimacing at the large hole that he burnt into it, when he hears a small metallic clatter, as if something dropped to the floor. For a moment, he panics, thinking it’s one of his fingers – but a quick look assures him they’re all accounted for. He skims the floor until he finds it, then walks towards it, a thin bent shape. He squints at it, picking it up – it used to be a fork, he supposes, but now it's no longer that, but a twisted piece of metal that had been stabbing at Shiro's back. He must've taken it from the table without noticing during one of the meals; another difficult habit he can’t shake off, pocketing potential weapons without thinking about it.

(He tells himself no one can tell.)

He sets the fork into one of the empty drawers and sinks back into bed, and doesn’t get a wink of sleep until the alarm sets off.

 

* * *

 

"Slept well?" Sendak smirks at the breakfast table (which is also the lunch and dinner table – Alteans were multipurpose like that), only Shiro isn't in the mood for one of their daily banters, not when he feels the bags under his eyes tugging his lower eyelids down.

Normally, Sendak would verbally poke at Shiro, taking advantage of Shiro’s sense of justice and his unwillingness to fight for real (a fact Sendak took long enough to adjust to); Shiro would tolerate it since Sendak is a valuable source of information in their fight against the Galra Empire (and also because it was gratifying to see how much it pissed Sendak off when Shiro kept his cool; his ears kept twitching like they were shooing off a fly, and the ways he destroyed the practice dummies at those particular days were particularly gruesome).

"Peachy," Shiro grits out, bench screeching against the floor as he takes his place next to Pidge. Shiro's pretty sure Sendak doesn't know what 'peachy' means, which is nice – he isn't in the mood and Sendak hates not knowing stuff and hates it even more when he has to ask for new information.

"Play nice at the table, kids," Pidge says, voice clear as a well-slept person can manage in the mornings, and Shiro huffs a laugh when she nudges against his right arm, warm and lithe.

Pidge is the only one who seems unaffected by Sendak's glower; considering how he wrapped her up back when he still had that huge claw model and could’ve crushed her like an empty soda can, Shiro feels a swell of pride each time she demonstrates her unflappable attitude in Sendak’s presence. He also noticed, interestingly enough, that Sendak never bantered back at her; he isn’t sure why, yet – Sendak doesn’t have any problem dressing down any of the others on the team, mostly Allura, and letting Shiro clean up the diplomatic mess he leaves everywhere he goes.

Pidge’s comment sets them all to the closest thing that can pass for a companionable silence, Pidge tapping and fumbling with her electronic devices in-between bites, Sendak silently chewing on the green paste they'd been eating each day.

"Do you plan to train, after?" Sendak asks when Shiro is almost done, and Shiro feels refreshed enough to tell him the general outline of the plan for today, as if it is any different from any other day – wake-up, train, train, fly around with the lions (form Voltron if it’s a Tuesday), shower, eat, sleep, rinse and repeat.

"I'd be joining you, then," Sendak claims, and leaves the table without clearing up his plate.

“Asshole,” Shiro mutters under his breath unthinkingly.

Pidge lets out a theatrical gasp. “Shiro! _Language.”_

Shiro laughs, a flustered flush on his cheeks.

“That’s a dollar to the swear-jar,” Pidge notifies him. “You’re up to thirteen, by now.”

“Put it on my tab,” he answers, and by then he’d already forgotten about the twisted fork.

* * *

 

Two days later, Shiro wakes up to scratching. Specifically, himself, scratching his own skin to the point of bloody.

 At first it's a casual thing, just the small scratch to the cheek and his lower stomach before stretching – only the need to scratch doesn't pass like it usually does – it intensifies, grows and spread until it _burns_. Shiro rolls out of the bed to crash on the floor ungracefully, limbs uncoordinated – anything but his prosthetic itches, even his hair - if that's even possible. The prosthetic isn’t any help – all he can do with it is rub is fiercely against his skin; he’s thankful he still got five of his fingernails. Looking down to his chest, he sees his skin already sporting pink and red lines, red spots forming like insect bites; that’s when he picks the heavy floral scent fills the air.

 

Looking closer into his skin, he notices a thin layer of crumbled leaves peppering it – he checks the bed, scratching his neck to the point he’s nearly breaking his skin – and when he finds more of the crumbled leaves, Shiro's pissed.

 

He doesn’t get enough sleep as it is, and he shoulders the burden of being the head of Voltron well - but at times like these, he grows exasperated at being surrounded by a bunch of teenagers that apparently thought it amusing to prank him with some sort of itching powder, since Shiro surely didn't use those alien leaves like they were talc powder.

He's already compiling the speech as he stomps through his door down the hall, about to give everyone a piece of his mind - his very tired mind, that has no time for such nonsense when attack could come at them at every given moment. Rest was just as equally important part of the regime as training, and to–

Shiro's line of thought is cut short when he hears distant voices coming up at him, raised and annoyed. It seemed not only he had a rough start this morning - he enters the dining hall to find Keith and Lance at it again, with Hunk trying to calm them both, without much success.

"Shiro!" Pidge calls when he walks through the door, relieved. Three heads turn to look at him in sync, like a pack of vultures, their eyes gleaming.

 

"Shiro! Tell him I didn't do it!" Lance demands, while Keith glower intensifies tenfold.

"Stop lying," He hisses, his voice angry. "I know it was you."

"Your sources suck, then, because it _wasn't_!" Lance snaps back.

"Guys," Shiro barks. "What's going on." They start blabbering together, but Shiro motions for them to stop with both of his arms, turning to the most-reliable source of information.

"Hunk," he says.

"Keith lost his blanket.” Hunk reports. “Some time this morning, after his run. He thinks Lance did it. Lance says he didn't do it–"

"Because I didn't!"

Shiro glares him into silence and scratches his elbow in four vicious movements.

"– And they've been screaming at each other for the past ten minutes or so without much progress. What happened to your face?"

As Hunk asks, the pointed looks given at Shiro change their nature – everyone’s only suddenly noticing Shiro’s fresh Pizza-face, like he’s going through second puberty.

"Are you alright?" Keith asks, worried, stepping towards Shiro. “Does it hurt?”

“No, but it scratches like hell.” Shiro huffs out of his nose.

“Lance,” he turns to look past Keith, “did you take Keith’s blanket?”

“No,” Lance answers, sulking, crossing his arms over his chest and hunching his shoulders, like he’s offended Shiro even asked that.

He’d live.

“Keith,” Shiro turns back to Keith, “as a team, we need to trust each other. Completely. If Lance says he didn’t do it, you’d have to take his word for it.”

Keith looks down at the floor, frowning. Shiro feels a twinge of guilt; Keith looks genuinely upset, so the situation has yet to be resolved. He puts an arm on Keith’s shoulder, trying to have his attention back, ignoring the awful desire to scratch the underneath of his chin.

“What makes you think it was Lance?”

Keith shrugs. “He’s the only one here that pulls off stupid shit like that because he thinks it’s _funny_ ,” he snorts, but Shiro knows he’s more frustrated than he is mad.

“Am not!” Lance protests, and Shiro holds back a frustrated sigh of his own, forced into playing peacemaker without even having coffee for comfort after, to chase away the migraine that’s starting to build underneath his skull.

 

“I think it was Sendak,” Hunk cuts in, and Shiro has to take a deep breath and releases it slowly, thankful Sendak wasn’t there at the moment, probably sleeping in. He doesn’t think Sendak’s presence would’ve contributed anything positive to the current dynamic.

“Hunk, we’ve talked about this,” He turns, his hand dropping from Keith’s shoulder. “It’d do us no good if we’d keep blaming Sendak for everything that happens around here.”

“Remember Lance’s slippers?” Pidge pipes in, and Hunk coughs, looking away from them both.

“Or Allura’s brush?” Shiro adds to the list of missing objects they’d falsely accused Sendak of misplacing.

“Coran’s trimmer.”

“The mice’s favorite seed-bag.”

“That time there was a power shortage because one of them nibbled through a wire.”

“That yellow cup–“

“Fine,” Hunk says, raising both of his hands in surrender. “Fine, I get it.”

“You should get Coran to get a look at that,” Keith speaks quietly as he follows Shiro to the replicator. “It doesn’t look good.”

 “It doesn’t feel that great, either,” Shiro sighs, and regrets it a moment later when he sees the way Keith’s eyes look at him. “But it’s okay,” he forces cheer into his voice as the machine spits the green goo into his bowl, “Nothing Coran can’t fix.”

Keith gives him a small smile, and Shiro promises him he’d join their training only after seeing Coran for his skin. As Shiro raises the spoon to his face, he notices something odd – the handle is slightly bent.

He shrugs, and spends the rest of breakfast scratching his scalp and letting Lance quip jokes about space-lice at his expanse.

 

* * *

 

 

“Sendak asked about you,” Pidge says when they’re both jogging outside later that day, when the only thing that has Shiro itching is the sweat gathering between the toes of his feet.

“And?” He huffs out, while Pidge’s breath is as regular as if she’s at a bath, making a small-talk over the phone with a friend.

“Just saying,” Pidge shrugs, and spends the rest of their laps telling Shiro about a book she’d been reading before, back on Earth.

“I’d love to read it, one day,” Shiro tells her when they’re stretching, and convinces himself it’s thirst that’s making his throat clench in such a painful manner.

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Humans,” Sendak snarls in anger, claws shredding the fabric into thin pieces.

One thin squeak pips out in reply, and Sendak lets his feet shred the fabric some more before settling down with a grunt. A chubby form skitters into his lap, then climbs up to his shoulder.

“They can’t do anything right,” he explains to his companion, opening the bag of seeds before pouring a small portion of it into a round yellow cup.

The mouse pips at him.

“Are you _sure_ this time?” Sendak scowls at him

The mouse pips again, flipping his tiny front paws in the air as it reaches out.

“It better,” Sendak snorts, placing the yellow cup on the ground and settling back into his makeshift nest, a poor excuse he pulled together only with his wit and resourcefulness.

The air ducts were hardly a proper place for one; when Shiro would finally come to his senses and accept one of Sendak’s gifts publicly, Sendak would build them the softest nest and fill it with the rarest tokens.

He wouldn’t make Shiro settle for anything less.

Sendak watches the mouse digging into the seeds with glee, as he rubs pieces of cloth in his palm to cover up the scent that clang to them from before they’d come to be in his possession.

 

Sendak’s patient.

He can wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm just as surprised as you are  
> it was either a vague story about shiro getting stabbed with a fork OR a birds!au where sendak's a kazuar and shiro's a white crane and sendak tries to impress him with a hole in the ground


	4. Honeymoon Phase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day Four - Galra Shiro.  
> It's strange, being married to an alien.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in the “Just Married” verse, because some peeps asked to see it from Sendak’s POV :) Thanks to all the lovelies that commented on it thus far! ♥  
> By the way, [musth is a real thing](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Musth). Just in case you thought it’s another made-up word.  
> Featuring: Slightly creepy Sendak. But he’s an alien, so regular rules do not apply.

It's strange, being married to an alien.

The human is a bag of contradictions - he spends a considerable amount of his oxygen intake on talking about inane things, but quiets down, peeved, by the most casual topics, telling Sendak humans don't talk about it. It seems humans have made a habit of talking about anything else but the things that matter.

He sleeps an incomprehensible amount of his cycle – an entire third – and eats small portions every several xhil – the most inefficient form of energy consumption in a sentient being Sendak witnessed as of yet. It’s all probably due to the fact Shiro is in a constant state of musth, another surprise he hides in his compact body. Taking it into consideration, Sendak is impressed with his mental capacity, and is tolerant towards his periodical outbursts – he can't conceptualize in his mind how it must feel, to experience life as a human. It's beyond his comprehension. Sendak had three musthes by now, and each one of them was an extremely excruciating time, wearing both his body and his mind. Shiro had been enduring it for years, now.

Maybe sleeping that much is a way to stave off the effects of the musth and cool down his brain. Shiro is notably more irate when he doesn't get enough rest, so Sendak does his best to make sure he would not be disturbed during his sleep. Earth must be a horrendous planet, he muses, if life forms there are under such constant duress and fear for their life evolution bound them to reproduce at any given moment.

The marriage has its perks.

Shiro's voice is nice enough; he could've had a voice in the frequencies Sendak does hate to listen to, or be a non-verbal species – but its unusual pitch is soft, like the human himself. Humans are incredibly soft to the touch, a fact Sendak discovered since they seem to enjoy unprompted physical contact. He guesses it's another aspect affected by their constant state of musth – he knows he was feeling desperate for physical contact during his times, and it's not the worst urge Shiro could have had. There were cases where marriages ended up with one of the spouses devouring the other, or an accidental death based on different physiological needs – aquatic beings that drowned their partners, mountain-dwellers that exposed their partners to frigid temperatures, and even simpler incidents, in which the pair needed different gas compound to process in order to function, or in which bodily fluids proved to be toxic upon interaction.

The Druids have learnt from past mistakes, but there were still slip-ups, from time to time.

 

Personally, Sendak thinks he did quite well.

Shiro is a nice addition to his ship, and they both can communicate well enough. Even though it was hard understanding him at first, Sendak found his own methods to get a reading of Shiro's needs –the different meanings of the patterns and staccato of his heartbeats (it sounds like he only has one of them, way too close to his brain); the smell of the chemicals he extracted unknowingly, catalogued into Sendak’s memory. He is almost certain Shiro is ignorant of this entire thing.

Sendak’s not sure how Shiro manages to read him (if at all), since over time Shiro proves to be nearly deaf and anosmic. He has a good enough eyesight, but only in very specific lightening conditions, for certain rays in the spectrum. If the light is out of Shiro’s range, he might as well just had no eyesight for all its worth, stumbling around with his hands outstretched to the sides.

Privately, Sendak finds all of those traits to have combined into an alluring individual. It took him by surprise – even though he didn’t strictly picture himself pairing off later at life, when he did give the subject some thought, he envisioned someone of equal standing by his side, not a furless runt.

It's not as if he finds Shiro lacking, exactly. In fact, a small, primitive part of his brain that he does not wish to fully acknowledge, thrives at Shiro's lackings – _look how small he is_ , it'd point out when Shiro walks alongside him through the hallways, _how light his steps are compared to everyone else on board, as if he's barely touching the ground_.

 _Look how peaceful he is_ , it'd say when Sendak peers into his bed, watching him huddled beneath the cloth he insisted upon having in their first cycle together, _how oblivious he is to his surroundings_.

 _It’d be so easy to kill him_ , it whispers, and the possibility of it is a thrilling wave of power coursing through his veins.

 

Shiro’s adaptable; he has a sharp mind and an outstanding memory that far exceeds any Galra Sendak met in his lifetime. He learns in a cycle what others gruel over through a vox, and the memory remains overtime. At first Sendak finds it hard to believe, when Shiro shares his progress, so he interjects with falsehoods which Shiro graciously corrects, then asks him about the events he claimed to have learnt about, only to be given essential details with ease.

It’s quite remarkable.

Shiro does not waste Sendak’s energy in insisting on issues he is not fully informed about; he heeds Sendak’s word, and Sendak knows he remembers them well.

He readily accepts Sendak's gifts – a gleaming scale of a quam he picked at the marketplace; a unique inflorescence he’d come across on a nearby planet (after he ran it by the science department); the skull of a youngling gllizozozorek that is said to bring good health (Shiro mistakes it for a type of gem, which seems to brighten his mood, so Sendak does not rectify his assumption.)

 

With all their contradictions, Shiro's overall capacity is a stark contrast to his physical capability – he's too short, too thin, with nearly no fur – he sleeps too much, eats too much and sees, tastes, smells and hears far too little. Yet his mind is sharp, and he’s brave; he does not cower from Sendak like many of Sendak's peers, he does not hesitate to argue with him when they’re at a disagreement, or telling Sendak he is wrong. He is full of life Sendak could snuff at any moment, and that makes it all sweeter – because Sendak would never let any harm come to him without Sendak unleashing his wrath upon anyone who’d try.

He was given to Sendak to protect with his life – a privilege Sendak had fought over with his own life on the line – and this new purpose in his life is a beacon of possibilities waiting to be explored. The xhils in which Shiro rests remind him of it each cycle anew.

* * *

 

Shiro’s laughing.

“You’re telling me–“ he manages a few words in between, gasping for breath but not quite managing it “– you’re taking me to Huni’s moon?”

Sendak watches him laugh. The rhythm of his pulse and his irregular breathe are pleasing.

Shiro grins at him, wiping fluids from the corner of his eyes, which Sendak learnt is not a good sign. He decides not to discuss the subject further, or tell Shiro he wouldn’t be taking Shiro anywhere – they’ve been requested to report to the nearby base, which is stationed at one of Huni’s five moons.

“Do you require a hug?” He asks, careful – Shiro had yet to react in a negative manner to such an offer.

“I’m fine,” Shiro says with a smile, pressing lightly to Sendak’s side, leaning in as Sendak places an arm around his shoulders, careful not to apply any force. Shiro takes another bite of his food, looking pleased. Humans take a long amount of time to consume food.

“I can’t believe you’re taking me to an actual honeymoon.”

He laughs again.

 

Humans are strange, Sendak thinks, but they are never boring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp


	5. Worthy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sendak experiences a shift in perspective regarding his view about life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know today is 'Grooming' day but to be able to keep the one-a-day week challenge I had to switch between it and the next one (you'd see why tomorrow). 
> 
> Theme: Priceless/Expendable
> 
> Featuring: Sendak's morbid attitude towards the worth of his life (if you're triggered by suicidal-related things don't read this)

It's early in his life, when Sendak learns life is expandable.

Every life is.

Every life is worth as every other life, and their general worth is nothing; other than the Emperor, no one can claim to have worth. There’s no purpose other than to serve, and your pulse and your organs are a small sacrifice for the Empire to continue, a speck of dust in a spiraling galaxy that forever shifts and expands, until the end of eternity.

His comrades die around him, one by one – and he is told to leave them behind and never look back, never grieve them; any ache he might experience is a sign of weakness that has no place in the Galra army, an act lacking strength.

"They were weak", the Commander spits at him, "so they died."

To mourn them would be betraying the Empire itself; it wouldn’t have reached its size and its glory if it had been made by weaklings who leeched into others backs to hold them down to road for a better future.

 

Sendak lives, only since he did not die like most of the others.

He lives, knowing he's expandable, like the rest of them. It's not a bad thing - everyone is replaceable. They're all tiny parts of the larger Empire, and the fact they're replaceable enables the machine to function as long as it had - no one is essential to it, a creation that is larger than the sum of its parts.

 

 

Sendak is dying when the Paladins find him, bleeding out from numerous gaping wounds at the outskirts of an abandoned city. He barely manages to hear their murmurs, but he makes one of their heartbeats – and for some unknown reason, the sound comforts him.

He's dying, and the Empire would continue to thrive long after he is dead and gone. He does not resent his crew for leaving him here - they put the Empire first, and it’s not even a choice – Sendak’s existence was never meant to last.

The world around him fades, and the last thing that disappears from his mind is the thud of a beating heart.

 

 

– Until it comes back.

 

"Why did you save me?"

Sendak asks, weeks after, when his mangled throat has managed to repair itself to better extent and swallowing does no longer feel like swallowing a handful of scalding nails.

Shiro frowns from his bedside.

"We couldn't just leave you to die there."

"You could."

Shiro shakes his head.

"No. Every life-" he looks into Sendak's eyes. "Life is precious."

“Not to Galra.”

“I know.” Shiro says.

Then he stays.

 

 

 

“Why are you doing this?” Sendak asks one clear night. His voice is strange to his own ears; it sounds like a stranger is residing in his throat, strumming the chords at the wrong time in his own pace.

Humans baffle him; they keep risking their own life to save others, even when those they rescue resent them, or even outright attack them as if they were their enemies. They offer to help, then help even those who wish to perish.

The Humans just made it back to the castle, but only barely – the lions are in bad shape, and the Paladins are not doing much better, bruised and scathed – they all had spent hours at the healing chamber, a bunch of floating corpses that had taken too much damage for the chamber to repair.

At the dinner table, they laugh, like their bones are not broken and their skin wasn’t just recently torn. Like Shiro wasn’t gutted, like Hunk didn’t just lose one of his eyes, like Pidge would regrow her left finger.

 

“Why?” Shiro echoes back, gazing at the night sky. He seems fascinated by it, even when there’s nothing to see but prickles of light shining at them from the past, of planets long dead.

“Why do you keep risking your life?” Sendak asks. “For the sake of such ungrateful lowlife–“

“Why,” Shiro says, frowning at the stars.

He shrugs.

“We saved a planet today.” He tells Sendak. “A whole planet. I can’t– it’s impossible to grasp such a thing,” he chuckles. “Those were countless of lives.”

He smiles at Sendak.

“I had never imagined…” he trails off, chewing his lip before attempting again, looking up at the sky as if waiting for the stars to spell out an answer for him.

“We saved billions of lives today. That’s– being able to do that– that’s just priceless.”

 

Every life has a price, Sendak thinks, and it’s zilch.

He keeps the thought to himself; the night air is chilly, his throat is sore and Shiro’s attention is again captured by the stars.

No point in saying the words out loud.

 

“Were you worried?” Shiro asks sometimes later, his voice having an edge to it that humans use to a communication-type they refer to as ‘teasing’.

“Why should I worry?”

“For me.” Shiro coughs. “Us. For–“

“I’m heading back inside,” Sendak takes to stand. “I advise you to do so as well. It’s far below the advisable temperature for your kind.”

Shiro continues sitting.

“Five more minutes,” he tells Sendak, and for the first time in his life, Sendak can make his own choice.

 

He chooses to stay, and they head back together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just think the Galra army must be a really depressing place y'know?  
> Then Sendak meets with the Paladins and suddenly WOAH SHOCK WUT


	6. Dime a Dozen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro had eleven owners by now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring: AUish + Slavery and All That Entails (Implied Torture and inexplicit Sexual Abuse) + Sad Times with Happy Ending + A SURPRISE
> 
> I wanted to set in in the Voltron Universe than realized it’d be really hard to make it happy and I didn’t want the collection to end with a sad note SO IT DIDN’T. It's kind of more loosely tied than usual so maybe I'd touch it up at a later date.

The marketplace reeked.

It wasn't Shiro's first time here, and he guessed it wouldn't be the last; it wasn't the same market, but for him it might've well been - it wasn't as if he was there for the merchandise.

He _was_ the merchandise.

Markets were crowded, noisy and smelly. This one was also cold - it seemed counter-intuitive - how does a place that holds so many bodies, stifled against one another, wasn't humid and warm? But when said bodies ran different temperatures, and the entire marketplace had been adjusted according to the Empire's benefit, Shiro was displayed shivering and miserable, without a single cloth to salvage him.

He wondered if he could catch a cold in space, or if he'd just run his body into exhaustion. It'd be an inglorious way to go, but Shiro had enough 'glory' back in his sparring days, and glory was earned through bloodshed and pain. He'd take the marketplace and the occasional torture any day over it.

Not that anyone had given him much choice in the matter.

The alien that's selling him this time was trying their best; it had a slimy skin, oozing a mucus of a sort, and Shiro was pleased to note not only he finds them revolting - the other aliens try not to get too near.

He stood still on the pod, his temporary comrades by his sides; Shiro fancied to refer to them as such, but it was all in his mind – none of them were carried the same inherent need humans did for company. Losing that caused Shiro more grief than losing his right arm.

 They were all stationed in the pods, with no barriers - but knew better than to move. Step off it without permission, and the shackles around them (ankles in Shiro's case, different appendages in other cases) would cause stimulate their nerves to cause them pain, without leaving outer damage that would decrease their price.

As if it mattered.

Shiro's skin was a patch after patch of scars, and even if the seller covered him up from head to toe, the one on his face was too large to cover up with their weird powders and pastes, or the thin mask some of the merchants tried in the past (two of them actually asphyxiated Shiro before they'd realized he had to use his mouth, not his ears, in order to breathe.)

Shiro let his mind wander off, keeping his face passive; it mattered little which of them would buy him, if at all. He was too old, by now, he guessed. When once his presence would've presented immediate loud bidding wars, now he was one of the old commodities, and everyone, even aliens, always craved the new models - fresh, malleable and blank for them to leave their filthy imprint on.

Back then he was naive, he'd thought it'd actually matter which of them bought him - that some were nicer than the others. That maybe one of them would treat him well, even decently.

The years have seen him through his mistake; he learnt no matter who bought him, they were all made from the same cloth - of people who devalued living creatures and thought of them as little more than characters in their consoles,  not as actual beings. He already had eleven of them, and he didn’t think he’d have much more. Soon, he’d get an owner that would push him too far; he was already the skinniest he’d been, nothing like the figure he had back when he was forced into the arena.

A startling hush fell upon the marketplace, shaking Shiro from his musings; a line of tall wide forms crossed the market towards them - Galra Soldiers.

He'd never seen any up close, just glimpsed at them from the stands. He never had to fight any of them; he doubted he stood any chance now.

The merchant seemed torn between glee and terror as the line stopped next to him. The biggest Galra, who wore different colours from the rest and had two additional yellow marks about his breastplate, started speaking to it in low, guttural sounds. Shiro hadn't a clue how they managed to communicate, since the merchant spoke in hisses and burps, but they seemed to manage it fine.

The Galra skimmed the line of slaves with his eyes, one of them cybernetic, the other a pale yellow.

Shiro recognized the look when he got it; no matter what sort of face, the vibe of _want_ was still palpable to him. He kept his face blank as the aliens exchanged whichever currency they had, and felt the metal on his ankles warming briefly before the light of the pod died - he stepped down before he'd be jerked to the ground. He knew what was expected of him, by now. He stopped the acceptable distance from the two, lowering his head.

A rustle went through the air, and a surprising weight settled across his shoulders. Blinking in bewilderment, Shiro looked to his shoulders to see the Galra who had just purchased him covered him with his own long cape - it still held some of his warmth, and Shiro shuddered against it as his skin absorbed it like a dry sponge.

Then there was further exchange - the Galra spoke to Shiro, obviously awaiting some sort of respond, and Shiro could just stare awkwardly under his intense glare, before the merchant interjected, maybe explaining to the Galra Shiro had no language skills.

Shiro didn't get why the Galra bothered at all; it was not like he just purchased Shiro for his conversation skills.

Growling in a rather menacing way, the Galra tugged at the cloth clasped around Shiro's shoulders rather aggressively, making him stumble a few feet forwards, before barking commands at the other soldiers, who replied as one with the same throaty language.

Then they marched off, without sparing Shiro a single glance, and Shiro hurried after them. The years had grown the callous on the soles of his feet so thick he could walk without any shoes, the pebbles and the occasional broken trash that poked at his skin bearable compared to the first time he had to walk without any shoes.

They stopped near a shoddy building, and the biggest of them used his organic arm to lead Shiro through the door, with the rest waiting outside. Shiro didn't like the room; it carried all the smells of a health establishment - even in space, you could smell those. But it clearly wasn't one, meaning it ran a business that required frequent usage of medical supplies. He was led through a door, where a fat short grey alien was already waiting, chirping like a sparrow at the Galra. The Galra wasted no time in pushing Shiro to the table and pressing him down to immobilize him. Shiro knew better than to put up a fight - whichever procedure they wanted, they'd manage to do it in the end, and there was no guarantee his new owner would care if Shiro broken one of his ribs in the process. 

There was a sharp sting at the back of his neck, followed by a sensation of his skin burning, and he writhed under the Galra's hold, biting his lower lip until his tasted blood, feeling tears burning at his eyes.

Then he was let go.

 

"Can he be moved, after it?" A deep voice spoke.

"I'm not sure," a thin voice replied, as Shiro blinked a daze. "I've never had one of its kind before. There's no record of them anywhere."

Shiro turned into the Galra.

"Can you understand me?" The Galra spoke, and Shiro could only nod in disbelief.  Years spent in intellectual isolation made this surreal moment feel like Shiro had just went into shock.

"Is this neck-twitching a byproduct of the transmitter?" The Galra turned to loom over the pink alien.

"It's possible," it hesitated.

"Are you unable to speak properly?"

“I-“ Shiro spoke, haltingly, after a few times of forcing a sound through. He coughed, clearing his throat. “I can talk.”

The voice that came out did not sound like he could; it was scratchy and unpleasant – Shiro himself wouldn’t have recognized it if he didn’t feel the way his throat forced each vowel out.

“Are you experiencing any ill-effects due to the procedure?”

Shiro slowly shook his head, still disbelieving. It was a surreal moment, like someone tore the fabric of reality to twist it into existence – a moment the most unbelievable thing Shiro could think of wasn’t the two aliens in front of him, but the fact he could _understand them_.

He shook his head, still processing, before belatedly remembering he had to offer a vocal answer.

‘ _I don’t think so’_ was a bit of a stretch to his rusty throat – so he settled for a short “No.”

The rest of it was a haze - the aliens conversed some more, before Shiro was called to follow the Galra. It was like stepping into a different world - information floated from everywhere at Shiro, and it took everything in him to keep his eyes on the Galra and his mind focused enough to follow.

A thrill of excitement was laced throughout the journey, one even his circumstances couldn't deter him from - he was finally able to understand, after years of social isolation imposed on him. He was now used to speak to himself, or at things, or to narrate his actions - just to hear someone's voice, even his own. But his last owner didn't like hearing his voice, and by the time they sold Shiro again, his habit to talk out loud was beaten out of him.

 

 Shiro was led to a ship, which was a familiar turf to walk into. Seven of his owners lived on spaceships, some better than others.

The room he was led to is wide lavisher than most he'd seen. He felt an unpleasant chill going through him at the low bed, wide and filled with furs and cushions. There's memorabilia decorating the walls and scattered on the floor, like a hoard of an ancient dragon that kept anything that glitters.

Shiro felt exhausted – he shifted from foot to foot, longing to lie down, though he preferred to stand rather than approach to the bed on his own accord.

 

"Keith," the Galra said into the empty room, and Shiro turned to him, confused - was this to be his new name?

The answer shown itself quick enough - like a gopher, a small bump on the bed weaseled out of the furs until a head poked out. Shiro's first impression was of a child, even though he'd learnt not to assume the short ones are children. But the kid has purple fur that resembles a foal, fluffed out and soft-looking the way adult Galra just didn’t have.

Most interestingly, he had a turf of black hair on top of his head.

The child ran towards the older Galra, practically bouncing in excitement, and Shiro couldn’t help a small smile – they looked rather adorable.

“You’re back,” the child spoke in a soft tone, looking up at the adult. “Who’s this?”

“What’s your name?” The Galra asked, and Shiro felt downright shocked. He hadn’t been asked for his names for years.

“Shiro,” he replied, croaking during the pronunciation.

“That’s Shiro,” the Galra spoke to the child. “He’d be with you when I’m away.”

“Really?” The child – Keith – asked, turning to Shiro. “You’d stay with me?”

Despite not interacting with others for literally years, Shiro felt how loaded this question was – though the glare his new owner was sending his way underlined it and highlighted it five times, to make sure.

“Sure, Keith,” He replied, crouching down, smiling despite the protest every one of his muscle groups acclaimed. His voice was still uncharacteristic, like he was chewing gravel, but the child didn’t seem to mind. His deep amber eyes lit up, and he looked like an excited puppy that’s restraining himself from bouncing everywhere.

The older Galra squinted at Shiro in what he took as approval.

That was a very odd day.

 

 

The oddities in his life increased, but none of them were bad.

His owner's name was Sendak, as he later introduced himself (and wasn’t that mind-boggling in itself); he was an accomplished Commander at the Galra army, one who'd actually been to battles (Shiro was distantly interested if it had anything to do with his left arm, a prosthetic almost as tall as Shiro was) before he was mysteriously saddled with a child named Keith (which is suspiciously a very human name for a child with many human characteristics). Shiro didn’t dwell on that - it wouldn't have done him any good, and he was long past snooping around what’s none of his business.

His duties included just keeping Keith company – no other bed-warming required other than to cuddle up next to a lonely child. It took a while to get accustomed to, especially considering Shiro remembered how Sendak first looked at him, but he must’ve misread it – Sendak doesn’t attempt anything at all.

He spent most of his time with Keith – he was bright, both in personality and intellect. Shiro genuinely enjoyed Keith’s unlimited imagination, how he connected between unrelated topics as if seeing strings invisible to anyone but him. They talked about the stars, about different aliens Keith met and about Keith’s studies.

Shiro gained weight, little by little; Sendak made sure to tell him he was allowed to sit at the table, and seemed almost embarrassed when Shiro sat by his feet. Shiro was probably projecting – Sendak had no reason to be embarrassed by that.

It didn't make sense, at first, to have Sendak entrusting Keith well-being to an alien slave; Shiro often wondered what went on in the exchange between Sendak and the merchant. What lies did they weave to sell him to Sendak? What promises they’ve made that Shiro would one day unwittingly break?

But even without the factoids, Shiro learnt over time he just wasn't intimidating to a Galra, of any size; he didn't have one of his arms, he was thin and he was small. It suited him well – if he wasn’t intimidating, no one would think to send him back to fight.

Picking up Keith turned easier, as Shiro gained his muscle-mass back, regular meals and decent conditions doing their work. Keith was heavier each time Shiro picked him up, so Shiro assumed it meant he was growing – as he stood the height of Shiro’s knee, he had lots of skeletal growth to undergo yet. He started marking Keith's height on the wall, a family tradition that made Keith as excited as Shiro was, his age – so much he’d ask Shiro to measure him twice a day, to check if he gained an inch more in between meals.

Life were the best they were in recent memory; Keith made Shiro genuinely happy, an emotion he did not even hope to feel again. He appealed to Shiro's paternal instincts like a drug, and Shiro feared the day Sendak would take him away from him, replace Shiro with another, more compatible caretaker.

 

 

 

“But I _want_ one!” Keith whined, sniffling, heart-broken.

“I know you do, Keith,” Shiro tried to placate him, “but I can’t take them off.”

“Why not?” Keith whined, pawing at the shackles at Shiro’s ankles.

“I just can’t.” Shiro shrugged helplessly at him. “Come on, Keith– “

Shiro felt even worse when Sendak went through the doors to find Keith sobbing on the floor like Shiro had just murdered his parents, very much aware how disposable he was.

Sendak seemed unruffled by the display.

“What does he want?” He simply asked Shiro, not moved by the tantrum.

“He wants to have–“ Shiro chewed his lip, wondering how to phrase it. “– the _bracelets_ I have on my feet.”

Sendak huffed for a moment, before turning to Keith.

“Keith,” he called him, easily gaining his attention. “Your behaviour is irrational. You cannot negotiate your terms with the opposite party by displaying yourself as an emotionally unstable individual.”

Shiro blinked at Sendak. Kind of harsh treatment for a five-year-old.

“As result of your unseemly conduct, not only you would not get your own bracelets–“ Sendak bent down, and before Shiro could panic at their proximity, snapped off the locks off both of his ankles, crushing them between his claws. “– Shiro wouldn’t get to keep his, either.”

 

 

 

Shiro thought he might just live yet.

He survived more than two heart-attacks by now, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... that was fun!  
>  not doing that again until 2018 at least  
> BUT I DID IT!!!  
> ♥  
> Thank you all for your supportive comments, you're all super! ♥


End file.
